APOCRYPHA
by Dustone
Summary: Currently under revision.


**Inferno: Part 1**

An abandoned highway...

...a former Army Ranger, weaving in and over cover, using the broken down highway barricades and burned out vehicles to protect himself as he advances- no, _retreats_ \- giving up more and more ground in prodigious strides despite his armor's bulk. He throws a glance over his shoulder, betraying the fear currently snaking its way up his spine. A fear that, with his face hidden, is more than evident in his widened eyes.

The desperate mercenary vaults over another barricade, nestling down behind its limited cover. After a drawn-out, shaky breath he pops up, M4 at the ready, firing in tempered, three-round bursts the way he was taught, emptying the 5.56's entire magazine into his attacker's heart- all to no avail. Then, he empties the H&K sniper rifle slung across his back and finally, the Model 29 .44 at his side, despairing when even Dirty Harry's infamous hand-cannon can't drop his pursuer. Resistance is futile.

 _It ain't stoppin'._

At the end of his rope and in a vain last resort, he ducks back behind cover, reluctantly tossing his entire stock of grenades over the barricade. Flame curls over the cement and surround the fledgling mercenary, blocking any escape. The inferno _is_ his pursuer. It attacks, searing the heavy SSC armor, rendering his inspired weapons battery and extensive combat experience useless as he writhes in fiery agony.

This isn't a simple PMC overwhelmed by an opposing force...

...it is the epitome of Elliot Salem, resisting a relentless enemy threatening to consume his entire being and claim possession of his already wrecked and charred soul.

* * *

Salem startled awake, jolting upright off of the splintered wooden slats sticking into the small of his back. He added "uncomfortable" to his growing list of gripes about the sidewalk bench, right above ugly. The bench was simply an anomoly, looked over or just plain forgotten by the people who had so thoughtfully cleaned up this part of town after Hurricane Katrina. Natchitoches as a whole was a tourist town in the midst of the larger Natchitoches Parish, this particular neighborhood now functioning as a retirement community. Salem, in his drunken stupor, most likely brought down the elderly residents' property values.

He slicked his lengthy, sweat-drenched hair back before stretching his wind-breaker's undersized hood over the matted mess. Then he scanned Natchitoches' desolate streets and sidewalks with a healthy suspiscion. Finally satisfied, he leaned back against the creaky slats and relaxed. Ever since the revelation of SSC's shadier dealings, Phillip Clyde's downfall to be specific, terrible nights plagued Salem, nights that even his frequent, drunken binges couldn't sway.

Salem turned to the upturned bottle of scotch that had rolled under the bench, the cap twisted on just enough to keep from spilling, and stood it up in the seat next to him. Groaning, he wiped away the sweat gathering on his brow.

 _I must be goin' crazy. PTSD or some shit? I don't know..._

This had to be the umpteenth time Salem found his way to Natchitoches in the last five years, usually after makin' bank. It was a kind of victory lap or celebration before the obligatory stop to see his uncle in Nagodoches, a celebration now dampened with the reappearance of this nightmare.

After staring down at the cracked sidewalk for what seemed like forever, Salem bit the bullet and reluctantly lifted his head. His gaze settled on an old, run-down brick duplex directly across the street, staring until the edges of his vision started to become fuzzy. He relented after a couple minutes, rubbing the back of his sore neck and resting his head on the park bench's rotten wooden slats.

 _Mental note: broken-down benches and cheap scotch don't mix. Damn nightmares..._

Salem felt the wooden slat under his head give a little. He didn't bother cracking open his sleep-shut eyes.

 _Maybe she'll go away if I pretend I'm still asleep._

Then he heard a throat clearing.

 _Damn it...I forgot she can tell the difference._

He pried his eyelids apart.

"What brings ya all the way down to the ol' homestead, Alice?"

Alice Murray, T.W.O's Mission Coordinator, craned over Salem, her narrow shoulders shading him from Louisiana's rising moon.

A Naval Intelligence Officer before going into the private sector, she worked at SSC for fifteen years before moving onto T.W.O at Rios and Salem's behest. Their combat experience paired with Alice's expertise in information made up the essential cogs of this PMC. For the past two years, the trio had built a reputation and for the first time in what seemed like forever, it was actually a good one; T.W.O was now expanding their operations to places even SSC hadn't set foot in.

"The Shanghai office already nabbed a job," she blurted. "I've got you and the big guy a connecting flight over to China."

Salem wiped the sleep from his eyes and leaned forward, elbows on knees, massaging his temples.

"Is this all I am to you damn overachievers?"

Salem's voice carried a bitter note. Alice took a seat on the bench, eyeing the bottle between them.

"Scotch, huh? Must be in a bad way if you're downin' those one at a time."

"At least my relationship with scotch isn't so one-sided," Salem replied, rudely swiping up the bottle as Alice started to reach for it. "It isn't murky like ours but I get the 'tude."

"The _'tude_?" she laughed.

"Yeah, your _attitude_ ," he replied before taking a big swig, not in the mood for her humor. "Workplace relationships suck; I'm a misogynistic womanizer; and last but not least, I'm a selfish little man who wouldn't put my life on the line for my own momma."

He flailed his arms, sloshing the scotch out of the bottle and going everywhere, including Alice's black top. She recoiled but Salem didn't seem to notice or care as he continued on his tangent.

"It's funny, that comin' from the chick I carried out of that Miami airport over my shoulder- _in the middle of a hurricane, I might add_ \- with SSC thugs all over us like white on rice."

Alice rolled her eyes and leaned back, relaxing.

"I didn't expect you to keep a list," she muttered, awed at the now nearly emptied bottle of scotch. "Or be able to name it off. Looking at that, I'm surprised you can sit up straight."

Salem shrugged.

"That's nothin', babe. I'm just gettin' started."

Catching the drunken merc off-guard, Alice yanked the dark green bottle away from him and scanned the label.

"J&B...you're guzzling the cheapest damn scotch there is." She huffed. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Oh, so you do care?" Salem shot back, shaking his head from side to side. "It's gettin' harder and harder to tell. I honestly started worryin' there for a bit."

She tossed the empty bottle into the nearest trash can and tried to get in his face, but he wouldn't turn to acknowledge her.

"Are you boozing it up because of what I said?"

"Get over yourself. You know me better than that."

"So that's not it?" she asked sarcastically. "I didn't hurt your delicate feelings?"

Salem shoved his hood back and finally faced her, staring through Alice with his bloodshot eyes.

"Lookie here. I sacrificed when I was little and I put up with everybody's shit attitude towards me. Then I put up with everything that the Army threw my way and I _had_ to, cuz I fucked up and it was either that or jail." The level of his voice rose with his anger. "Now I got you and Rios pissed at me cuz I've got a mind o' my own- cuz I don't wanna throw my life away or waste it on people who aren't worth the powder it'd take to blow 'em to Hell."

Alice backpedaled, her hands up, palms-outward.

"Okay, I know Rios and I are a little more... _principled_ -"

"Ya know what? Don't insult me," Salem interrupted, indignant. "I just don't see the point in throwin' our lives away for somebody else's cause, especially since we aren't obligated to. We're PMCs, not soldiers!" He calmed down, settling back against the bench. "I know I'm no soldier, at least. I can't speak for you two a-holes anymore."

"Nobody can talk to you when you're like this," Alice muttered again, shaking her head as Salem pulled a half-smoked cigar out of his pocket, along with a cigar torch.

"You can talk," he snapped, puffing on the cigar as the tip started to glow, snapping the cap of the torch shut. "Just don't expect me to listen anymore."

In an attempt to get Salem's undivided attention, Alice yanked the cigar out of his untrained grip and held it away from him. The attempt worked.

"Woman," he snapped again, very sternly this time, shoving his index finger in her face for effect. "Yank somethin' outta my grip one more time and see what happens. _Gimme_."

Alice stifled a laugh before growling back, assuming an equally stern tone.

"Elliot, I deal with two adolescents on a daily basis. You can forgive me if I don't exactly pick up when something offends you. But I am _genuinely_ sorry for what I said back in Africa. I know it was ungrateful, spiteful-"

"Don't forget _bitchy_ ," Salem interjected, eyeing the tip of his smoldering cigar.

"Okay, I'll take it," Alice said. "Can we talk about something a bit less confrontational now, _Ellie_?"

Salem's hard expression softened as she handed the cigar back to him. The desperate tone of her voice always did that to him.

" _Fine_. What'd ya have in mind?"

Satisfied, Alice crossed her legs and threw her left arm over the back of the bench; Salem fell back against it for the second time.

"So what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you hated this place."

"I did-" Salem cut his sentence short, correcting himself. "Nah, that's a lie. I still do. But ya never really realize what it is you take for granted. Not until it ain't there anymore."

Staring across the street, his eyes once again transfixed on the duplex, Salem continued.

"Katrina pretty much blew away what was left of the Salems- the ones that weren't in jail, the ones whose lives weren't already wasted...who still had somethin' to offer the world."

"Wow, that's deep," Alice prodded. "Are you finally growing as a person, Elliot?"

Salem flipped her the bird before replying.

"You're always ridin' my ass about bein' closed-off, then you make fun when I try to talk to you."

Alice scooted closer to Salem, suppressing a giggle.

"I'm sorry. Really, go on. Tell me why you came out here this time. I know you only come home when-"

"I'm just drownin' my sorrows, Murray," he interrupted again. "Home seems to be the best place to do that."

"Looks more like self-medication from here," Alice prodded again.

"Just leave it alone," he snapped. "I ain't a druggie or a pill-head, Alice. I know how to appreciate good liquor. Leave it alone."

She wasn't discouraged despite Salem's abruptness, who suddenly blanched, unintentionally "swallowing the smoke." But instead of blowing the vapor through his nostrils like he should have, the smoke hung in Salem's throat, causing him to cough and hack. Alice took the oppurtunity to needle him again.

"You're really getting touchy in your old age. Now that I think about it, you've been on a downward slide ever since Mexico. Rios still doesn't believe you didn't drop him on purpose?"

Salem leaned back against the slats again, blowing the last of the cigar smoke straight up into the air.

"Like you don't already know. Do the three of us ever break contact for more than a day?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

Salem stubbed the cigar out on the bench.

"It doesn't matter, anyway. I'd probably feel the same about what happened: stubborn, all unforgivin' and shit."

"What about Samantha?" Alice asked. "She hate your guts?"

"Sam's still givin' me the stink eye but she hasn't been tryin' to undermine me- from what I can tell, at least."

Alice looked down, remembering.

"Her and Nala went through quite the rough patch after I gave them the bad news. Samantha looked like she wanted to kill me after I told her that Rios was still alive, still in that hellhole."

Salem turned, his head still relaxed against the bench.

"Thanks for takin' that bullet, by the way. I don't think I coulda been the one to tell 'em...either of 'em. The truth is that underneath all the squabblin', me and Rios have been gettin' along fine. More like the old days, at any rate. He's just bein' a prick about this. It'll take time but we'll get back to business as usual. Trust me."

Alice averted her eyes to the duplex across the street and went silent, but only for a moment. She turned back to Salem.

"Then why are you drinking yourself into a hole? Is it that dream again?"

She inched closer, slowly sliding her left arm under Salem's head, trying to pull herself closer to him. He didn't fight it.

"Yeah, but there's another one now. It's not as bad but.." he trailed off.

"What is it?" Alice asked, showing genuine interest.

He lifted his head off of her arm and admired the stubbed-out end of the smoked cigar, trying not to be too responsive to her comfort.

"Fire- it chases me, surrounds me...just 'bout swallows me whole. I fight back but it doesn't matter. Nothin' I do matters."

The moon rose to its full height, overwhelming the poor street lighting. Alice glanced down to her wrist.

"I need to get you to the airport if we're gonna make the layover."

Salem's eyes were fixed on the duplex again.

"You haven't told Rios about 'em, have ya? My dreams?"

"No, that's between us. Why would I tell him?" she demanded, incredulous. "They're just dreams, Elliot. Nothing more. As long as they don't affect the mission, they aren't his business. Let him sulk in his corner."

"If you say so."

Salem turned back to Alice, facing her again.

"Think he knows about us?"

She relaxed again, crossing her legs.

"He's been pretty oblivious from what I can tell, especially to anything going on under his nose. Understandable, since he's been spending any free time he has with Samantha and Nala. Is that what's causing these dreams?" she prodded, a mocking tone. "Spending too much time away from your BFF?"

Salem rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I don't know what causes 'em," he dismissed. "What if that was the problem, though? They're his family, man."

"So are-"

Alice started to argue but Salem waved her off as he strained to stand up, swaying from one side to the other.

"Well, you're drivin' me to the airport, I know that much." He reached into his wind-breaker's pocket and pulled out his keys. "My motor skills are compromised as shit. I know I parked the Camino around here somewhere..."

Alice bolted up, catching him as he started to fall backward.

"We'll worry about getting you sober on the plane."

Salem turned and, under the guise of stability, wrapped his arm around her waist, drunkenly pulling her closer.

"Ya know, a quickie might go a long way to get me sober."

"I don't think so, Salem," Alice replied, assuming a mocking Southern accent. "Ya ain't all that attractive when you cain't stand up straight."

"Oh, come on..."

Alice, struggling with his unstable 190 pound frame, propped him against a street lamp then took off down the sidewalk with his keys, jiggling them.

"Stay here. I'll be back with your car in a minute."

He looked back up at the duplex across the street, his hazy gaze reaching through the foggy windows, meeting a middle-aged woman's stare. They exchanged painfully indifferent expressions through the distance; even an outsider could discern a malcontent shared between these two lost souls. The staring contest was broken as Alice pulled up between them, throwing the passenger side door open. Salem nearly fell down climbing in. He slammed the door shut as the Chevy burned out.

"Hey, do you know what El Camino means? The Camino!"

"This thing has a little more power than I remembered." Alice brought her hand up, fanning it side to side. "God, tell me that wasn't the only bottle you drained."

She rolled the window down, trying to get rid of Salem's stench.

"Tell me ya got us first class this time."

"Sorry, short notice," she apologized. "You're going to have to deal with coach."

"Come on, I'm an executive of my own company. We need to fly in style."

"Yeah, right."

Salem switched on the radio.

"I bet you only made one stop when you finally got here: the liquor store."

"That ain't true, I made another," Salem defended. "The first liquor store didn't have my brand of cigars, just the sco-"

Salem tweaked his attention at the mention of a familiar name sounding over the radio.

 _"...General Wade's dishonorable discharge is still a divisive topic of discussion among the soldiers who once served under him..."_

"Wait, damn," Salem muttered, his voice almost non-existent, his heart pounding and his breathing suddenly uncomposed. "Did that just say Wade? _Jonah_?"

White light filtered into the El Camino's cab, surrounding Salem as he turned to Alice, finally realizing all of this- _they_...were merely a memory relived.

* * *

Sterile, scrutinizing light flooded his vision, temporarily blinding the wounded merc. He instinctively bolted upright, pain instantly coursing through the bandaged side of his torso. Two blurs appeared on his flanks, their gloved hands keeping him from ripping away the gauze as he screamed in agony. One of them bellowed in Spanish and, though Salem's grasp of the language was lacking, he could tell it was directed at someone other than those on his flanks. Another blur appeard, gently laying their smooth, bare hands on his chest as the others grabbed his arms. He stiffened in response, putting up as much resistance as possible.

 _"¡Sedante, Ezzy! ¡Sedante!"_

Salem felt a needle pierce the inside of his elbow and he allowed them to slowly press him back against the bed. Despite the sedative, his vision became clearer as he started drifting back into unconsciousness. The dialogue gradually shifted to English and Salem tried to take in everything he could before he fell out completely.

" _Gracias_ , Manuel. Who am I workin' on, anyways?"

The question came from a salt-and-pepper haired man on Salem's left as he craned over him, looking over his bandaging. He wore simple clothing and was smooth-faced except for a finely groomed mustache.

"A _mercenario_ , Javier," Manuel answered, inhaling sharply as Salem turned to face him.

He was short and stocky and, from the thick layer of grease covering his ragged coveralls, Salem figured he was most likely some kind of mechanic.

"He was with the men that attacked the _compuesto_ ," Manuel continued. "His _amigos_ abandoned him in this condition."

Javier, satisfied with Salem's bandaging, postured up and stepped back, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.

"Why am I trreating him, then? _La Guadaña no es conocida para ser clemente_...unless Esteban's planning torture, in which case all of this," he said, gesturing toward Salem, "was for _nada_. Gustavo already made my work harder than it had to be."

Javier moved aside, letting another figure pass and tend to the drowsy Salem. She looked to be at least Salem's age; her black hair was partially put up, the rest hanging down in her face. There was a certain subtlety in her motions too, quite evident to Salem in her caring hands that adjusted the pillow under his head. _Ezzy_ , he thought he'd heard Javier call her. She didn't look like a nurse but Ezzy definitely knew what she was doing. When she bent down close enough, Salem tried to whisper something but his voice caught in his throat.

She took notice, though, and just stared back at Salem for a moment, watching as he drifted back into the blackness, allowing it to consume him as the fire finally had a week before. Manuel continued speaking to Javier.

"He killed twenty, maybe even thirty of our men with his bare hands _after_ getting burned. You understand the value of that?"


End file.
